Chapter 6 6

Elodie POV

The suppressed snickers of the surrounding elites buzzed like toxic hornets in the grand ballroom. I took another slow sip of my champagne, letting the cold liquid soothe my throat as the trap tightened.

My stepmother, Luna Victoria Schmidt, glided over to a group of rival Alphas standing nearby. She wore a mask of perfectly practiced, fake sympathy. "Poor thing," Victoria sighed, her voice carrying effortlessly over the music. "Kingsley's legal battles must have the Blackwood Pack's funds running so tight. It's a shame she has to make do."

Bianca Sterling preened under the attention, stepping closer to me. "Oh, darling," she cooed, her voice dripping with sugary venom. "Are you wearing the budget version? It looks so... empty."

Kingsley's hand, still wrapped around my arm, turned to absolute steel. A low, guttural rumble-a feral, beastly growl meant only for my ears-vibrated deep within his chest. His scent spiked violently. The smell of cedarwood before a thunderstorm and a burning bonfire flooded the space, thick with lethal aggression. His Lycan was seconds away from tearing the room apart to protect his mate.

He shifted his weight, preparing to pull me behind him and unleash his Alpha's Command on the entire room.

I turned my head just enough to meet his storm-gray eyes. With a microscopic, almost imperceptible movement, I shook my head. My lips parted, silently forming a single word: *Wait.*

Kingsley's jaw locked. The muscles in his neck strained against his collar, but miraculously, he held his ground.

Just then, the crowd near the entrance parted like the Red Sea. Valentina V, the supreme authority of the fashion world and a formidable older she-wolf, stepped into the ballroom. Alphas and Lunas alike stepped aside, bowing their heads slightly in respect.

Clotilde's eyes lit up with malicious triumph. Like a proud peacock, she stepped directly into Valentina's path, blocking her way. "Valentina! What perfect timing," Clotilde announced, ensuring the entire room was watching. "Please, you must settle a debate for us. Who wore it better?"

Valentina V stopped. Her icy, calculating gaze swept over the silent crowd before landing on the two of us.

She approached Bianca first. Valentina didn't even bother to touch the glittering, crystal-encrusted fabric. She simply leaned in slightly, taking a delicate sniff of the air.

"Tsk," Valentina clicked her tongue, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the quiet room.

Then, she walked straight toward me.

Kingsley's body went completely rigid. I could feel the violent hum of his beast, ready to sever the arm of anyone who dared touch me. But Valentina ignored his lethal aura. With her leather-gloved fingers, she gently brushed the fabric of my cuff. Reaching into her clutch, she produced a professional jeweler's loupe and pressed it to her eye, examining the inner seam of my sleeve.

She was looking for the microscopic 'P' hand-stitched in platinum thread-a detail invisible to the naked eye.

After a long, agonizing moment, Valentina lowered the loupe. She took a step back and turned to the breathless crowd.

"This is *Velvet Noir*," Valentina announced, her voice ringing with absolute, unquestionable authority. "Hand-stitched by the late master designer Pierre himself. The 2024 Atelier prototype. Only three exist in the world. It is a priceless piece of art."

A collective gasp rippled through the ballroom.

Valentina then turned her lethal gaze back to Bianca, who was suddenly trembling. "And what you are wearing, Miss Sterling, is a factory-line replica. Those cheap glass beads are merely a distraction from the atrocious stitching."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Valentina looked back at me, a rare smile touching her lips. "Exquisite taste, Elodie. I expect you at my private dinner next week."

As Valentina walked away, the illusion shattered. Bianca's face turned the color of a bruised plum. Her chest heaved, and I could see her eyes flashing, her inner wolf panicking, desperate to shift and flee from the ultimate social execution.

I slowly lowered my champagne glass and looked up at Kingsley.

He was staring at me as if he were seeing me for the very first time. The confusion and protective fury that had clouded his eyes were entirely gone. In their place was a burning mixture of shock, awe, and a dark, consuming fire of Lycan possessiveness. His beast was roaring in his mind, the realization hitting him like a physical blow.

I was never the helpless wolfless victim he thought he needed to protect. I was the one who had orchestrated the slaughter.